


Do you know (I still miss you)

by elareine



Series: so put it in all of the papers [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Coming Out, Crying, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, M/M, Mild Language, POV Outsider, Post-Break Up, Supportive team and friends and family, don't take relationship advice from Sidney Crosby, mentions of potential homophobia, who meddle in a really uncreative way because hockey players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 15:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13193289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareine/pseuds/elareine
Summary: Connor breaks up with Jack just before the draft. It’s better that way.Too bad everybody else doesn’t seem to think so.





	Do you know (I still miss you)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I owe prettylittlepliers more thanks than I can count. 
> 
> This references events told in "Finding Surety", but you don't need to read that. Basically, Mitch and Auston are fake-dating to soften the blow of a forced coming-out and pine at each other for months before getting together for real.

**Sidney Crosby**

Sid takes his responsibility towards the younger generation of players very seriously, especially the Canadians. They’re the future, after all. 

And, well. When players get called “The Next Sidney Crosby” it seems kind of obvious that they should get at least some benefits from the comparison that isn’t just a load of expectations. 

So he makes sure to get to know Connor McDavid, offer some advice or at least an open ear. He’s a good kid, quiet, hard working, but adaptable enough to joke around in groups, and his hockey is amazing. They meet up at NHL events a couple of times and Sid gets the impression that the younger player has accepted him as a sort of part-time mentor, so he shouldn’t be surprised when they’re in a waiting room for a delayed interview and Connor asks faux-casually, “Can I ask you something? Personal, I mean.” 

“Sure,” Sidney says. He’s pretty sure Connor isn’t going to ask something too private. He’s too polite. 

“Like. Do you think it’s possible to carry on a relationship that’s - uh - that’s not going to go public?” 

Oh, God. 

On one hand, Sidney has always been better at things once he’s practiced them, and Connor’s unconsciously echoing a question Nathan had posed just two years earlier, before his own draft.

On the other hand, this is the part of his career that he knows he has failed the most in, is aware he is still failing, so he is really not the one to give advice. For a moment, he wildly contemplates sending Connor to PK - not because he even thinks PK is queer too, but he’s probably good at this kind of thing, anyway. It’s PK.  

The truth is, Sid is scared to give anyone this much of himself, even if it’s to avoid this conversation. 

“There might be some difficulties,” he says neutrally. “NHL schedule is harder than CHL in terms of games, travelling and training. That puts a strain on most relationships that transition, as far as I know. I imagine hiding it would worsen that, because you’re going to be surrounded by teammates most of the time in your first years.” 

Connor nods, looking unhappy.

“It’s - hypothetically speaking - what if it’s another player?” 

Another one? “Please tell me he’s not going third to the other end of the country?” he asks without thinking, and there’s a reason he doesn’t do that often, because Connor goes just as quickly, “Nah, maybe first, definitely second,” and then they’re both wide-eyed and panicked. 

You know what? Sid is just going to ignore that. He’s good at that.

“I can’t speak for the locker rooms in, uh, let’s hypothetically say Edmonton and Buffalo.” Awkward. “I… heard good things from the Oilers, mostly, depending a bit on the line-up, but management seems okay. The Sabres are a bit more difficult, as far as I can tell. So. That’s something that might happen. And the press can be a bit of a pest, as I’m sure you’ve noticed already.” He gestures to the door, where presumably members of said press are going to enter through soon, and chuckles, but Connor just agrees absentmindedly.  

Sid frowns. The thing is, when he’d told Nathan something similar, Nathan had just gotten a look of determination in his eyes and said, “We’ll make it work.” Then he’d started asking Sid about good means to stay in contact, how to deal with timezones, ideas for dealing with management on both sides, ways to avoid the paparazzi... 

Connor isn’t doing any of that.  

Sid is about to say something, explain that he’s only listing the negatives here because this is the spiral that goes around in his own head every time he’s thinking about coming out, that maybe Connor really shouldn’t listen to him, but the door is opening and in the end, Sidney doesn’t say anything, and Connor doesn’t bring it up again.

 

**Dylan Strome and Mitch Marner**

Dylan and Mitch know about Connor and Jack’s relationship from the very beginning, of course. Mitch and Connor had come out at the same time during a tipsy (first time getting wine from one of their moms) game of truth or dare when they were all fourteen, so there is nothing keeping Connor back when he wants to gush about his cute boyfriend to his two best friends. 

Neither of them really sees a resemblance between the Jack Connor always tells them about and the one they occasionally meet at games, but hey, that’s probably a good thing, since they’re not the ones dating him. Dylan once asks Mitch if he finds Jack attractive, like, is he just not seeing it as the straight one in the group, but Mitch tells him that it’s probably just because they know that Jack is off limits cause bro code, and that sounds reasonable, so they go with that. 

Anyway, Dylan and Mitch know how much Connor is into Jack. Which is why they’re totally mystified when Connor informs them that he has broken up with him. Because NHL, pressure and press and responsibility and shit. 

Mitch hangs up the Skype call and doesn’t talk to him for three hours. Like. Here’s Connor, having everything Mitch has ever wanted - a supportive boyfriend that’s willing to go through this stuff with him, that shares his love of hockey, even - and he just throws it away? No fucking way. 

Dylan, surprisingly, is more understanding, though he does call Connor a dickhead. At first, Connor just shoots back: “I’m being responsible, Dylan! The press is already writing shit comparing us, how much worse is it gonna get?” Then, more honestly, Dylan thinks, he adds softly, “I can’t do this.” 

Dylan sighs and sends a text to Mitch.  _ Dude is being stupid and miserable even without you ignoring him.  _

Mitch sends back  _ ヽ(ಠ_ಠ)ノ _ , but he also signs back into Skype, and both of them go about the business of distracting Connor from missing Jack. 

It’s just that neither of them was prepared for this situation to go on for  _ two whole fucking years. _

 

**Taylor Hall**

It’s nice, having Connor living with him. Taylor is very sociable, and moving away from Ebs and Nuge to an empty house would have killed him. It’s also very obvious very quickly why Connor is already being touted as their next captain - the kid’s got leadership quality in spades. He’s a fixed part of the team in a matter of weeks. Taylor has heard of Jonny Toews having a similar effect his rookie year, but damn, it’s another thing to witness for himself. 

He doesn’t exactly open up a lot, though. Taylor is used to knowing everything about his teammates - being an Oiler equals losing a lot equals drinking a lot equals drunken confessions all the time. Connor, though, just lends everyone a sympathetic ear and never comments when Taylor goes home with Ebs and Nuge instead of him. 

It takes a broken collarbone to get him drugged enough to open up, and Taylor doesn’t like it one bit. He’s had that problem before, okay, with his shoulder, and he can see in Ebs’ eyes the same memory. Connor looks way too small on his bed when Taylor pokes his head in and asks, “Hey, Connor, you need anything?” 

“Jack,” Connor says quietly, plaintively, “I want Jack.” 

“Okay, I can call him for you. Which Jack is your Jack?” Taylor asks agreeably. 

“Not mine anymore,” is the grumpy answer. “Can’t call. Told him not to, anymore.” A pause. “But I miss him.” 

“Okay, kiddo.” Taylor says, suddenly feeling very old and protective. “It’s okay. He probably misses you too.” 

“Nah,” Connor shakes his head, but he’s already beginning to drop off. Okay. 

Neither of them ever bring it up again, because what’s said under pain killer influence is never repeated, but Taylor remembers the name Jack. 

 

It doesn’t click until they play the Sabres just after Connor has been declared fit for contact again. 

One of them, McCabe, has been going after Connor all night - not that much rougher than usual (he’s one of their star players after all, and Taylor is quite happy with himself that he doesn’t feel any bitterness about that,) but kinda hard for someone that’s just come back from a complicated break. 

Still it’s not hard enough for even any of the Oilers to go for him, so Taylor is a bit surprised when he’s in the penalty box and sees Jack Eichel take McCabe aside on the Sabres bench, looking serious (but when doesn’t he?). 

Jack, huh? Taylor flashes back to Connor’s usual pre-game rituals - had his hands been just a little bit shaky today? The tape wound just a little tighter? 

Maybe. It’s not much in the way of evidence, but Taylor has taken less and run with it. 

After the game he volunteers for an interview. He’d gotten a goal, too, so it’s not too unnatural. This way, he’s in prime position to see Connor’s face when he’s asked “What was it like playing against Jack Eichel again? Do you think your injury has set you too far back in the Calder race?” 

“I’m feeling good about being back on the ice for now,” Connor replies with what Taylor suddenly notices is studied indifference, “and the competition for the Calder, including Jack, is so good I’m sure I’m out of that race. More importantly, however, today the Oilers played against the Sabres, and I’m glad we walked away with the win. The boys worked hard to earn it, especially the defense in the last minutes of the second. Our goalie made some spectacular saves.” 

And with that, the conversation turns to the Oiler’s perceived lack of depth in goal. 

After, when all the microphones are gone and they are driving home in companionable silence, Taylor offers, “You know, we could swap interview slots for the Sabres games,” without taking his eyes off the road. 

There’s a moment of stillness that Taylor has learned to interpret as ‘Connor is thinking it over’, then Connor says quietly, “Yeah, that would be - that would be good. Thank you.” 

“Sure thing,” he reassures him. “Sure thing.” 

 

After he’s traded, Nuge takes over for him. Taylor didn’t tell him anything, but Nuge is great that way.

 

**Nathan McKinnon**

Nathan isn’t ashamed to admit that this World Cup is one of the best things to have ever happened to him. He’s playing with Jon again, same team, same line, and he’s even sharing a room with him. 

They are very enthusiastic about that last part. So enthusiastic, in fact, that he’s now sneaking through the hotel in order to steal some lube from Brandon. He’s on his way back, mission successfully accomplished, when he hears a slight thump from the common kitchen on their floor. 

So sue him, he’s curious. This might be some epic prank or something, after all, Team North America’s last hallelujah. He could spook the hell out of the guys preparing it, too. With that thought in mind, he slowly opens the door a bit, prepared to see Johnny filling water buckets or something.

Instead, he gets treated to the sight of Connor McDavid sucking face with Jack Eichel. Oh. 

For a moment, he considers interrupting them, maybe making a joke, teasing them a little bit, but no. This looks like a private moment, the way they’re clutching each other speaking of desperation, if also familiarity. 

Seconds later he is glad of that decision, because Eichs is pushing Connor away abruptly. For a second, Nathan thinks he might have been noticed and mentally prepares to hit the right tone between joking and reassuring, but no, Eichs just… leaves. Through the other door, thank God. Still, Nathan gets out of there as quickly and quietly as he can, just in case Connor comes his way. 

Once he’s in his room, he hastily closes the door, locks it and falls down on the bed in a daze. 

“Nathan? What happened?” A soft voice asks, and Nathan shakes his stupor off. 

Jon looks so soft like this, in their bed, wherever it happens to be at the moment. Nathan tries not to think of how long it will be until he can see Jon like this again, and instead kisses him quickly. ‘Quickly’ turns into prolonged contact that is only broken when Jon leans back and raises an eyebrow at him. 

“So?” 

Oh. Right. Other people. 

“Just saw our captain having a… midnight snack,” he explains. “It looked complicated.” 

Jon’s face scrunches up adorably. “I do not want to think about that. Keep kissing me instead.” 

Nathan gladly obliges. 

 

**Auston Matthews**

The first time they’re on ice for Team North America practice, Eichel pulls him aside.

“You’re getting compared to McDavid a lot, and it’s gonna get worse.” 

Auston rolls his eyes. It’s fucking ridiculous, is what it is. You’d think the best league in the world wouldn’t be quite so surprised to have at least two or three great players of roughly the same age. “Yeah, whatever.”

Eichel’s eyes are serious, though. “Look. Don’t blame him for it, okay? He honestly hates this shit, and you know he’s the nicest guy. Can’t help being good.” 

“Uh. I don’t?” Auston doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but what the fuck. 

“Okay.” With that, Eichel claps his shoulder, suddenly friendly again (or at least his version of it). “So, how’s being stuck in Canada?”

 

After that, well. He’s obviously watching those two a lot closer than he usually would. All he knows about them is what the media told him - they’re rivals, they haven’t met much, not openly antagonistic but not necessarily friendly, either. He’d always thought it was probably just two guys who are both very good at hockey and ignoring any made-up rivalry. 

But, okay, now that he’s watching them, they’re  _ weird _ . There are a lot of good friends on this team, and even a few where Auston isn’t sure whether it isn’t a bit more (which is re-assuring in its own way. If these NHL players can be here and queer, then so can he), but these two are… not talking, most of the time. Both of them don’t just stay in their circle of friends - in fact, both have gone out of their way to make sure he’s included, Eichel’s weird warning not included - but watching them make their rounds around the room is like a physics experiment with repelling magnets. They never come closer than three meters. 

During practice, though, when they can’t completely avoid each other? They stand way too close. They don’t look each other in the eyes, but when they do, they get stuck for too long. It doesn’t feel sexual at all. He’s not even sure they like each other, except there’s no dislike, either, just avoidance. 

In the end, he shrugs it off. After all, he’s unlikely to be on a team with either of them in the near future.

 

After Auston and Mitch’s rather turbulent coming out, he gets a threat from McDavid and a message of support from Eichel going,  _ Congrats, dude, that was brave. Good luck to the 2 of u.  _ There’s an American flag after ‘brave’, which makes Auston laugh, but honestly it’s just one out of plenty, and after he texts back a quick  _ Thx _ he doesn’t think about it anymore. 

 

The next time he actually considers McDavid and Eichel again is right at the end of their playoff push, when the media decides it’s a great idea to interview him and McDavid about the future of hockey. Or something. Auston doesn’t care all that much, to be honest. At least they only ask about Mitch briefly: “So, Auston, you and Marner appear to still be going strong?” 

Auston is suddenly acutely aware that he’s sitting next to one of Mitch’s closest friends. “We are.” It’s the truth, after all, even if they’re not doing it in quite the way Auston would like. 

“How about you? Anyone cheering you on from the sidelines, Connor?” 

McDavid makes a face, almost as if he wants to laugh, but it doesn’t look happy. “No. No one.” For a second, Auston remembers the weirdness at the World Cup, but that was a year ago. McDavid’s expression would vaguely fit a secret relationship with his supposed rival, but that’s not exactly the vibe Auston is getting off of them. 

At least their answers are so boring that they get cut out of the video. 

 

In the end, it’s almost a year after that first chat to Eichel that he gets his answer. He’s lazing around on the couch with Mitch re-watching ‘The Hobbit’ for the fifth time, tired out from training and ready to nap. So when Mitch’s phone rings, neither of them bothers to move. Mitch stays planted on Auston’s chest and Auston just vaguely waves a hand in the direction of Stromer’s face on the screen. 

Mitch puts in headphones and Auston drifts off while they talk. He surfaces a bit when Mitch moves to tuck himself into his side instead, makes sure to wrap his arm around him. Stromer must comment on that, because he hears Mitch hiss, “Shut up, we’re not,” but he sounds pleased, so Auston doesn’t worry. 

Then: “Yeah, yeah. But, Strome - they’ve been broken up for two years now, and Connor is miserable without Jack. Like. Do you really think trying again would be so much worse?” 

Oh.  _ Oh _ . 

He forces his eyes open and pokes Mitch in the shoulder until he turns to Auston, then Auston takes the cords of his headphones and yanks them out, ignoring Mitch’s and Strome’s looks of outrage. It disappears quickly, anyway, when he says, “Jack Eichel took me aside at the World Cup to warn me that I’d better like McDavid cause he’s the nicest guy. Or else.” That part had been implied, but. Someone with Eichel’s face doesn’t have to try very hard to be threatening. 

He hears Mitch’s groan of “I can’t believe this shit” and sees Strome actually faceplant into the table. 

Auston plugs the earphones back in. He’s made his point. They can do the scheming. With that, he goes back to his nap. 

 

**Noah Hanifin**

Noah sometimes wonders what it would be like to have known a Jack before Connor. It’s weird - he doesn’t have a baseline to compare his friend to, because when they meet and hit it off immediately, Jack and Connor are already a thing. 

Noah is actually one of the first people Jack tells, right after his sister. “I got a boyfriend,” he says, half-jubilant and half-afraid, and Noah is a dumb sixteen year old, but luckily he doesn’t fuck this up, just says, “Cool. I know him?” 

Jack’s cheeks turn red. “We, uh, played against him before. Connor McDavid.” 

Noah blinks. Of course he knows who that is. Apart from, you know, the usual US and Canada junior match-ups, the hype around the kid would be hard to miss. “I didn’t know you two even know each other that well.” 

Jack shrugs. “Got texting after a tournament, you know the way it goes, only… yeah. We’re a thing.” He looks really pleased for a moment, until he adds, “Just don’t tell anyone, okay? 

“Nah, dude, I promise.” 

 

Jack occasionally mentions Connor, after that, and when they share a room, he can hear the two of them talk on the phone in the evenings. He doesn’t mind - he does the same with his girlfriend, after all, and it’s not like Jack has long, protracted arguments that end in tears every night. (That particular roommate had been hell. Why the fuck the guy had stayed in that relationship for so long, Noah has no idea.) It’s kinda cute, how soft Jack’s voice becomes. 

As far as he knows, everything is fine at the Combine, right up until the last day, where Jack’s mother asks him worriedly: “Have you seen Jack? We wanted to go for lunch, and he’s not in his room or answering his phone…” 

Noah frowns. He knows Jack doesn’t have the best relationship with his parents, but he wouldn’t ditch his sister like that. “I’ll go check, but he probably just got dragged away for a group thing or something.” 

“Thank you.” 

In the end, he finds Jack in their room - he probably just didn’t want to answer his mom’s knocking. Even without all that, Noah would have known something is wrong immediately, cause Jack is just sitting there, staring at the wall, and doesn’t even acknowledge him. 

Noah sits down next to him and gingerly puts a hand on his shoulder. “Jack?” 

Jack startles and turns to him. “Noah.” His face is strangely - what’s the word?

“Everything okay? Your family is looking for you.” 

“Oh. I forgot the time, sorry. I’ll go.” 

Noah holds him back. “Jack, what’s happening?” He hesitates, then offers, “I could go get Connor?” 

“No!” The vehemence of Jack’s protest is startling. “No. He’s not - we’ve broken up. I’m too much. I - sorry, Noah, I gotta go. Thanks for letting me know.”

Empty, Noah thinks, staring after him. Empty is the word he was looking for. 

 

The Jack Noah knows is occasionally a bit of a jackass, always sharper and more sarcastic than he means to be, but he’s also kind and supportive. After the break-up, he’s hiding that more and more. In interviews he doesn’t say anything unkind about Connor, but he’s obviously using the idea of the rivalry to get some distance between them. 

Noah’s worried, but what is he supposed to do? So he gets Jack drunk a couple of times, doesn’t get annoyed at 2am texts and is ready to distract him with memes. 

After a couple of months, neither of them mentions Connor anymore. 

 

Shortly after the NHL gets its first out couple (and Jesus, the Maple Leafs never do anything by halves, do they?), the Canes play Buffalo at home. 

Noah makes sure to invest in some quality alcohol, and then he invites Jack over. 

He wants to be a supportive best friend here, okay. He googled the hell out of this shit, back when he was sixteen, and he is doing it again now, almost obsessively following the coverage of Matthews and Marner’s relationship, making notes of his teammates’ reactions - basically preparing a campaign of war, if need be. 

“So,” he starts once they’re down a few beers and have exhausted chatting about the game. “Matthews and Marns, huh? You ever think about coming out?” 

Jack puts his beer down abruptly. “Jesus, Hanny, you’re not being subtle. Should have known something was up.” 

Noah rolls his eyes. “Well, tough, this is what best friends do.” 

Jack actually has the gall to look surprised at that for a second. Then he recovers and says, “Yeah, yeah, you nosy fucker. I thought about it. Like. My parents already aren’t happy with it and Buffalo is probably not about to fire me just for this, so what’s the worst that can happen?”

“...being traded to the Leafs? Playing for Canada?” 

Jack snorts. “They should be so lucky.” 

“Damn right,” Noah agrees, and they clink their bottles together. 

Jack looks down. “But. If I was out, there’s no way I could keep a relationship secret. I don’t want to force that on - anyone.” 

He doesn’t blush easily anymore, but he looks mortified, more so than the statement warrants, really, so - oh. 

“Oh, Jack,” Noah says softly. “Are you still hoping to get back with Connor?” 

He’d honestly thought it was over. Granted, he hadn’t been on the roster for the North America team at the World Cup (which still stung a bit), but from all he’d heard, they’d been fine. Jack had been quiet after, but not more so than during training camp every year, and Noah hadn’t thought about it anymore.  

“It’s stupid, I know,” Jack is saying. “I mean. He’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to, that it’s too much, and I - I get that, I understand that, but then that asshole has to - to  _ kiss _ me again at the World Cup, cause I guess there it’s  _ convenient _ or something, and it’s been eight months, but I can’t stop thinking about it, Noah.”

“Wait,  _ what _ ? He kissed you?” Noah gapes at him for a second. Why is he only hearing about this now?

Jack just nods miserably and takes a deep pull from the bottle. Then he says: “Even if it’s - if it’s not Connor, like, that sorta thing would put pressure on any relationship. I just - wanna keep my options open, you know?” 

Yeah, Noah is not convinced, here. “Dude. It’s been two years. I know you know,” he adds preemptively cause he can see Jack get ready to hiss, “I’m just worried. Like, what’s it gonna take for you to get over him?”

“I don’t know,” Jack whispers. 

They sit there in silence for a long time.

 

When it becomes clear that neither of them will have any kind of post-season, they make plans to go to Worlds.

In terms of mourning the season, it’s actually fine. Both of them didn’t really expect anything different and had weeks to come to terms with it. So they’re totally fine watching the playoffs unfold, heatedly debating whether Toronto or Washington deserves it more, cheering on Nashville in unison because fuck the Hawks, the usual. 

Except that also means the Oilers, and Connor McDavid’s face. 

The first time that’s on, Noah makes a very subtle grab for the remote to switch channels. It’s not easy to distract your best friend from a dude when said dude’s amazing check is being replayed every twenty seconds. 

But Jack says, “Leave it.” For a moment, Noah wants to change it anyways, protect his friend, but Jack is a grown up. 

It’s weirdly uncomfortable looking at Jack’s face as they watch the game, as if the expressions there are something too private, too intimate for even Noah to see. So he looks away, and they watch the Oilers take the series in silence. 

After, Jack hands Noah his phone before he heads to bed. “Just… to make sure.” 

Noah nods, doesn’t need to ask what Jack needs to stop himself from doing. “Sure, dude. Good night.” 

During the night, Jack’s phone rings once. It’s an unknown caller, I.D. suppressed. Noah doesn’t pick up, and the person doesn’t try again. 

He gives the phone back the next morning and sees Jack check the logs, then putting it away quickly. They don’t talk about it.

 

It’s two months later, when he’s already back in Carolina for training (it’s his home now, as annoying as it is sometimes), when he gets a call from Dylan Strome. 

There’s only one reason for Dylan Strome to call him. 

Noah thinks of Jack watching Connor, and picks up. 

 

**Jessie Eichel**

Jessie is going to be honest here and state quite openly that she’s not Connor McDavid’s biggest fan right now. She thought he was cute enough when he was her baby brother’s secret boyfriend, but then he’d gone and broken Jack’s heart, so he can go fuck himself. 

“Look, I’m not even disagreeing with you, Jessie,” Noah says patiently. “But Jack isn’t exactly happy without him, is he? And if Connor’s gotten his shit together…” 

“Who says he has?” She snaps back. 

There’s silence on the end of the line for a second, then Noah asks, “How would you feel about a Skype conference?” 

 

Jessie is the last to be added to the conference, and she almost can’t believe her eyes. The window is split four ways, and that’s Dylan Strome in one, Mitch Marner in the other, and what looks like Taylor Hall - he lived with Connor while he was with the Oilers or something, right? They all very politely introduce themselves, too.

“So, just to establish the facts here, Connor is an idiot,” Dylan Strome opens the conversation. 

Jessie immediately feels better about this. “Agreed.” 

“So he thought he made a rational decision for himself and to like, protect Eichel or something, and that worked out jackshit for him, but we kinda all thought that he’d just have to live with it, cause there’s no way Eichel would take him back,” Marner says rapidly, “except then Auston said Eichel told him to be nice to Connor even when they get compared cause he’s ‘the nicest guy’.” He actually does air quotes. 

“Please tell me Jack didn’t,” Jessie groans, knowing she sounds both fond and annoyed, because that’s her baby brother right there. 

“He did,” Marner nods, looking offended that she’s doubting the word of his boyfriend. 

“So I thought - maybe Jack isn’t happy, either?” Strome asks. 

“No, he isn’t,” Jessie admits. “Kind of the opposite.”

“So now it’s the five of us, sitting here, trying to play matchmaker,” Taylor says, sounding weirdly happy about it. “Leon - Draisatl, one of the Oilers, is in Europe right now, or he would probably be here, too. He’s been asking what’s wrong.”

“Pretty sure the same goes for half the Sabres,” Noah replies, and Jessie is weirdly glad that Jack has as many people on his side. He just… opens up to fewer. 

“Even Sidney Crosby has texted me about this - several times, cause he’s worried he gave Connor anxiety, or something, and Nathan has been weird and roundabout about the issue, too,” Dylan adds, sounding really aggrieved. For a moment, Jessie considers what the American equivalent of that would be, then banishes that thought very quickly. Also, does half of Canada know about this relationship? 

“So let me get this clear,” she says, “you’re saying you want to get the two of them back together.” 

“I think it can’t get worse,” Strome says bluntly. 

She looks at Noah, as much as that’s possible through Skype. He seems to get that it’s his cue, cause he sighs. “I have to say I agree.  They’re clearly not getting their shit together on their own, if whatever the fuck happened at the World Cup is any indication.” Right. That whole ‘he kissed me and I fled before he explained himself’ thing Jack has told her about. 

For a moment, Jessie contemplates these boys, one of them older than her, but just hockey kids, really, all so invested in the relationship of their friends, so desperate to fix something that causes their friends pain. 

“Alright. They should at least talk about it. What’s the plan?”

 

**Connor McDavid**

Connor isn’t quite sure how he ended up here in front of Jack’s house in Buffalo. He just knows that Dylan called and basically told him to get himself the fuck in the car and to be at this address just about now. Dylan was sure that Jack was home, too - how, Connor has no idea. 

“And apologize this time, Connor.” 

“I don’t need to go to his house for that, Dylan, what the-” 

Dylan, rude person that he is, just interrupted him. “Look, I’ve got reason to think he misses you. Don’t you want to at least try?” 

And, well. Connor got in the car, and now he’s pressing the doorbell, because he does want to try.

Jack opens the door. He looks good - circles under his eyes, yes, but already bulking up again, sweatpants loose and t-shirt tight and soft-looking on him. 

As soon as he sees Connor, his face turns wary, his shoulders tense. It makes Connor feel like every day at the World Cup, like every Oilers vs Sabres game has since they’ve been drafted - so close to reaching out and touching that he wants to cry with it. It would be so, so easy to just pitch himself forward, let Jack catch him - but he’d already ruined everything once by doing exactly that. 

This time, he makes himself asks, “Uh. Can we talk?” 

Jack stares at him for a long moment. Then he turns around and, with steps that look very carefully measured, disappears into the first room on the right. 

But he leaves the door open. 

Connor takes off his shoes - he can’t help it, okay - and follows him into what turns out to be the living room. 

Jack is standing no more than three feet from the door, arms crossed, obviously waiting to hear what Connor has to say, but unsure if he wants to hear it. He still hasn’t uttered a word to Connor. 

Connor says, “I’m so sorry.” 

“For what, exactly?” Jack asks. He still looks like he might run away any second. 

Connor makes sure to look him straight in the eyes as he admits: “I didn’t know if I could fight for you the way you deserved it, so I didn’t even try. Breaking up with you was the dumbest decision I’ve ever made.”

Jack’s voice is small when he asks, “Why did you make it, then?”

“I was mostly scared. We already weren’t seeing each other all that often, and with two NHL schedules added to that… and the press. Like. They were on us, so much, and I just didn’t want you in all of that, and me neither, I guess. I thought it would be easier.” Connor snorts, though there’s nothing funny about this. “I was really, really wrong.” 

“I was scared, too,” Jack admits. “I don’t - I was wondering, even before that, you know? Whether I was good enough, I guess. And when you kissed me again, I kinda thought it was an emotion thing, cause we got thrown out, and - I couldn’t do that and let you go again.” 

Connor takes a deep breath, suppresses the urge to beg Jack to never let him go, ever, and focuses on the important parts, because  _ fuck _ , he fucked up even more majorly than he thought. “You were - are - good enough, Jack, more than. I’m sorry I didn’t show that. I wanted to tell you, at the World Cup. Apologize, like, a minimum of a thousand times.” He smiles wanly. “I wasn’t prepared for being anywhere near close to you again. I’m sorry for that, too. I love you. I’ve never stopped. And I still miss you so much, I can’t-” 

Jack makes a wounded noise and steps forward, enveloping Connor in a hug. Connor grabs his t-shirt with one hand, winds the other arm around Jack’s middle, and lets himself breathe in Jack’s scent for a second. 

“I never feel as good as when I’m in your arms,” he murmurs, almost unthinkingly. 

He feels Jack’s arms tighten in response. The shoulders next to his cheek start shaking, and with a start, Connor realises he’s crying too. He buries his face even further in Jack’s neck, if that’s even possible, and holds on.

They hold each other in silence for a long minute. Then Jack murmurs, voice sounding choked, “If we’re doing the ‘hugging and crying’ thing, how about we sit down?” 

He nods, reluctantly, then remembers to be honest and says, “Only if I don’t have to let go. Sorry. Might take a while.” 

Jack doesn’t laugh or chide him, as he’d half expected (he’s fully aware how ridiculous this is, he’s the one who has broken it off, for God’s sake), just drops a hand to his hip to guide him over to what Connor identifies as an armchair once Jack has pulled him down on it. Not much space to be apart on it. That’s a good sign, right? 

“Just, please tell me - is there any chance we could try again?” he asks, finally.

Jack hesitates. Connor doesn’t blame him for it. “What about the press? The attention? Your team?” 

“Jack. I don’t care anymore,” Connor is doing his earnest best to convince Jack of his sincerity, because he  _ means _ this. “I realize this is - I don’t know, cheaper? - now because of Mitch and Matts, but Jack, it only took me a few weeks to figure out that if it’s a choice between falling out with parts of my team, the owners and all of the press or not having you,  _ I’d always rather have you _ . I’m sorry I lost sight of that for a while.” 

“Weeks?” Jack asks. 

“Not very many, either,” Connor tells him. “And, uh. I’m pretty sure half my team knows I’ve been pining for a dude for two years now - I didn’t tell them your name, of course, but I got it on good authority I wasn’t exactly subtle about being an absolute mess and missing you.” 

“Same,” Jack told him, and oh, it shouldn’t make Connor feel even a little bit happy to hear this, but it does, and Jack continues, “I couldn’t tell with you, though. I thought you were just avoiding me because of the awkwardness and looking strained because - well, I mean, you  _ do _ play for Edmonton.” 

“I was convinced you’ve moved on. That’s why I never said anything.” 

“I wanted to. So badly,” and Connor can hear the hurt in Jack’s voice. “I wanted to. It was the sensible thing to do. But I missed you, too.” 

“I’m so sorry I hurt you this much,” Connor apologizes, “and that I’m so selfishly glad.”

“I’m sorry, too.” 

That gets Connor moving, looking up at Jack in indignation. “What on Earth are you apologizing for? You didn’t-”

“No, listen,” Jack tells him. “I did know that you have a tendency to worry, and how much you carried - still carry - on your shoulders. Shoulda just made you talk it through with me instead of just accepting it meekly. You’re right, you fucked up and you didn’t fight, but. Neither did I.” 

“I guess that I just managed to hit both of us right in our weaknesses,” Connor whispered. 

“Mmmh. Let’s not do that again.” 

 

**Jack Eichel**

It’s the season opener against the Habs. When Jack returns to his locker, he finds a text waiting for him:  _ That assist in the second was fucking incredible <3 <3 <3 you’ll smash them next time, they barely held on. Skype tonight? xxx _

“Well, well, what’s got you looking remarkably less grumpy right now?” Kyle asks. 

Jack smiles, and thinks,  _ fuck it _ . “My boyfriend.”  


End file.
